JnD Shorts
by Jak-of-a-Few-Trades
Summary: A collection of short JnD fics for fandom events. Theme: Creatures (Crocadog, Metal Heads, Wumpbees).
1. Who's a Good Boy?

Words: 1074

Summary: A boy, his crocadog, and an ottsel. Has a better trio ever graced the Naughty Ottsel's second floor?

Setting: Directly after Jak II and before the start of Jak III

Author's Note: This was a piece I wrote for the Jak and Daxter theme week on Tumblr, which I was having problems posting there. The theme for this day was Crocadog.

* * *

 **Who's a Good Boy?**

"So, uh, who's… a good boy?"

The lively tail smacked against the ramshackle boards of the newly refurbished Naughty Ottsel's second floor. A pink tongue languidly laid between the white teeth, jutting back and forth slightly with every pant. The crocadog sat there, optimistically staring up at its owner.

"You… are?"

A tanned hand gingerly closed in, rubbing through mottled brown hair. The crocadog closed its eyes, head tilting so the right spot could be scratched.

"'I guess I'm just good with animals," Daxter said mockingly in the doorway, raising his hands for even more exaggeration as he mouthed the words again. "Where's that bravado now that this thing has peed not once, not twice, but thrice in my bar? _Thrice_ times, babe. That is thrice more than it should have."

The crocadog barred its teeth at the comment tuned against Jak, readying itself for a growl. Daxter had been saying the word 'thrice' whenever he could that day after finding it on one of Krew's old medication bottles, and both others quickly grew tired of the ottsel's vocabulary expansion.

"I am, just not like this."

Fuzzy feet pattered over to the crocadog, who, after finding a paw centered underneath its stout chin, dropped the threatening stance. The scaly body drooped playfully, head raising and shifting with the rubbing.

"Not like this?" Daxter asked, moving his gloved fingers in the crocadog's jowls, throwing the head back and forth. The tongue casually popped back out, being cast along with the movement. "A face not even animal aficionado Jakkie could love? Y'know, I might have'ta call HSPCA an' tell 'em yer treating this guy so cruelly."

"Dax, you know that isn't it."

"He's cryin' crocadog tears over here 'cause you don't love him, big guy." Daxter immediately moved his hands out of the mouth, finding them covered in a thick coat of saliva. " _Eeuch_ , doggy drool."

Plopping over, the crocadog awaited further attention from the ottsel. A yellow, scaled underbelly met saliva-covered gloves, as well as a flurry of rubbing to make sure it all came off. The stumpy leg slowly began to kick through the air, making circles too close to Daxter's head for comfort.

"It isn't mine."

"Why's that? He is yours. Kinda."

Nape skin billowed as the crocadog's head shifted once again, tongue wildly flailing to the other side as it looked up at Jak. Giving its best attempt at a bark, a gruff whine let out.

"I didn't name it."

"Then _name_ it," Daxter sighed, shaking his head. The crocadog's gaze returned to him, foot kicking faster than before as the scratching went closer to the right spot. "Oooh, name it Killer. And it's a guy, trust me. Either he's happy to see me or I've never seen a p—"

"Killer?" Jak interrupted. "Why Killer?"

"A parasite. _Sheesh_. Thought I was going to be a naughty ottsel in the Naughty Ottsel? And for the record, he's a real lady killer. You should'a seen my cute little lemon gumdrop swoon over him." Daxter began to lull over, forgetting to rub the Crocadog's stomach. "Let me tell you, she'd know it's a boy too 'cause that sure is a p—"

"Croc."

The metal collar scrapped against the floor as the crocadog switched between speakers. A spiked tail slapped contentedly against the floor at hearing the name.

"Croc? Like croc-adog? Real imaginative, buddy." Daxter hit his head, to which the crocadog, decidedly accepting of the name, got up and began to rub his head on Jak's leg. "Forgive me, I must'a forgotten my manners. The name's Ott the ottsel, nice to meet ya. Have you seen my good ol' pal Hu the human? He's about yay tall, is apparently _great_ with animals, and is as creative as a motivational poster in the KG barracks."

"It fits, right?" Jak asked, still trying his best to show Croc a sign of companionship by wading his fingers through the fur between its neck and collar.

"Oh, it fits alright. I think it'll fit just fine. Don't know if there're any girl Crocs out there, but—"

"Then his name is Croc," Jak interrupted again, pushing the ottsel out the door at the last coming second before he could finish the statement. "Now get out."

The door closed shut, and with a click, left the room as barren as usual except for its two current occupants and any bugs Daxter missed during his extermination bout.

"Why are you closing your doors on me, tell why me!" Tiny fists rapped against the door, then moving to jiggle the doorknob. "Really? C'mon Jakkie, you cannot lock me out of my own establishment!"

"Sorry about that… Croc," Jak said, sighing to himself. He was apologizing to an animal that wasn't paying attention to anything that happened, instead sniffing around until he was called. It gave a simple face as an answer, as well as another go at a bark. "You'll be seeing more of him."

Returning to the old, worn-down mattress, Jak rested his head between his hands. All he wanted to do was try and make Croc comfortable, which would make himself comfortable. That wasn't working too well, but it just stared at him, unbothered.

They always said the second time's a charm. "We should start over. Right Croc?"

Croc playfully bowed, jumping forward to give a half-attempt at crawling up Jak's leg. After its owner sat in silence, not knowing how to respond, it gave up trying to get into the lap and began sniffing the area until it came up to a darker splotch on the floor.

"Now," Jak breathed deeply, "who's a good boy?"

Tail wagging and tongue triumphantly sagging out of its mouth, Croc turned and ceremoniously lifted his leg.

"You…" Jak stopped to watch as the splotch became even darker and not unsettling moist, considering that it was likely to have been the cleanest fluid to ever pass through the floor in this room. "…Are?"

What sounded like dishes and glasses dropping and shattering in the room below ebbed in. The giggling was loud enough to be heard clearly, but the frustrated ottsel came through cut. "…swear …. discipline… mark my… _Castrated_! …thrice times …sure of it…! Hang it… wall!"

Croc came running over to Jak, mouth open wide with a dumb smile. Scratching under the ridges along the scaly body, he smirked, sending its little foot happily smacking. "Yeah, I guess you are."

* * *

*HSPCA: Havenic Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals


	2. Squish

Words: 1600

Summary: Gol and Maia, surrounded by their fallen enemies, meet an elderly man.

Setting: Sometime after Kor's arrival at the start of Jak II, during the "first" metal head war.

Note: Another piece I wrote for the Jak and Daxter theme week, this time for the theme: metal heads. I wanted to explore an option as to what happened to Gol and Maia, especially since dark eco was such a precious resource.

* * *

 **Squish**

Sitting cross-legged in the air, Maia huffed loudly to her brother. Gol returned the look cautiously, floating above the remains of the scattered bug-like legion. Not taking a threat seriously was how they lost last time, and yet she apparently learned nothing from their entrapment and thought little of a Precursor silo being ripped open as well.

For him, at least, it was anything but dull. The hostile welcoming party was an inviting warm up after those years of confinement. Commanding such a great amount of dark eco exonerated his lungs momentarily, letting himself breathe clearly as another blast shot down a wave of enemies.

Once the last creature dropped, a cane followed by footsteps sauntered along the metal base of the citadel, alerting the dark eco sage.

"It seems you, too, have survived the onslaught of this world," the older man said, stepping into the purple light radiating off the siblings. The yellow gem glimmered against the glow, set above a suit of withered, blue robes. "Even the sages had fallen to this scourge, yet you are here unamused by the metal heads that have perished before you."

"The four sages, they are no more?"

"They were weak, dear brother. Much like these _things,_ " Maia chuckled, resting her head on a fist. She spun to the voice, now done playing with a dying metal head, raising an eyebrow. "You, on the other hand, are not like these pests. Alive, that is. For now."

Much like his sister, Gol raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"I am Kor, an elderly traveler who sought the wisdom of a dark eco sage," the man said, gracefully bowing to humble himself before two beings of such great power. "I came to this citadel looking for answers, but it seems I have ambled onto the Acheron siblings themselves."

"These creatures, you call them—" Gol wheezed, weights swinging recklessly through the air with each passing spasm. It ended as his lungs cleared. "—metal heads. I took them as Hora-Quan, beings responsible for the Precursor's undoing."

"It seems you are quite endowed with knowledge on our indomitable foe," Kor gave a ragged chuckle, impressed with the sage. "We have been waging war with them for quite some time, and the great Mar has prepared a defensive front in a village called Sandover."

A defensive front by a Mar, most likely some warrior too out of his wits. "The village of the green sage?"

"A village turned fortress. I believe it wise you come with me there. There is little time, and this citadel will not protect you from the metal head leader. Legends say it can rip through even the strongest Precursor metal, meaning this threat is no mere—"

" _Yet_ they lay slaughtered at our feet," Maia interrupted, laughing at hearing the old man consider these things a threat. She sent a rogue coil of dark eco at a metal head with some life left, stilling it within an instant. "Dear brother, don't you remember how _fast_ they fell?"

"Yes, dear sister," Gol sighed quietly to himself. The sage gave the older man, who was remorsefully glimpsing around him, a look down before returning to Maia. "This matter is different, and I—"

"Oh, hush. You were always reading your silly books and never were the one for a bout of fun," she said, smirking to Gol. "I do believe I saw a smile coming to when _you_ took out a few of these disgusting pests."

"More of a reflex, dear sister," Gol coughed, both to clear his lungs and show he was finished speaking to Maia, who clearly wasn't taking any of this serious. He now shifted to Kor, the older man raising his head in recognition. "I, too, believe it wise to go, but we are behind on current… events."

"Ah, that must explain everything," Kor said, raising his cane to the large gash in the Precursor silo's base, and the ruined Precursor robot head. "I never took the legends as fact, but this proves them true. Ask what you may, and I shall do my best to answer."

"What exactly are these—" Another hack came from Gol, stronger than last time to where Maia had grasped his shoulder. She gave him a worried look before a nod and a raspy cough returned her to a blithe attitude. "—metal heads. They contain dark eco, but not that of which we can freely channel whilst they live."

"Marvelous creatures, aren't they?" Kor started, walking down the hollow corridor at the base of the citadel. "They work with a hive mind, controlled by a single leader with unfathomable power. Separate from dark eco, yet without it, they cannot live and grow. That, I assume, is why they targeted your citadel. These silos hold an insurmountable amount of eco that very well could allow them to dominate this world."

As Gol floated cautiously behind, Maia rolled her eyes and followed close to her brother. There weren't any metal heads left hiding in the shadows anyhow, much to her disappointment after winning so easily without even as much of a fight. She hadn't even tested out her true powers yet.

"These silos, our only source of eco," the sage said haggardly, coughing early to stop too much buildup as he spoke on. "Truly, it would be devastating to allow our years of work to fall into the hands of such a being."

Nodding, Kor agreed. "Mar's resistance cannot hold without this either, but now you have waned out the threat and he may be able to reclaim it."

"Who said this Mar was allowed to have himself with _our_ precious dark eco?" Maia questioned. "If anything, this Hora- _whatever_ leader and that Mar are too laughably pathetic to even _control_ it. Anyhow, we need it for that stupid boy. The one with the rat. Dear brother, what was his name? Jake? Jack?"

"The boy's name was Jak, dear sister. The ottsel's was Daxter," Gol answered. Scratching and tapping echoed from the center of the citadel, a distance away from the trio. He turned, only to see a dark violet hue surrounding Maia. "And they're called Hora-Quan."

"That's what I said. _Jak_. And I know a rat when I see one," Maia said frustratedly, letting out an aggressive sigh at her brother. "Now, take us to that Mar, old man. I am decades late on patience, and that nuisance back there shortened it. We may as well squash that leader of theirs and end it all now."

"Squash their leader?" Kor chuckled as he continued to pace before them. A light shake came from him, agitating his cane to tap on the floor. "I have heard he is something of a god. Even the strongest have fallen before him."

"Dear sister…"

"You _heard_ me," Maia said arrogantly, placing her knuckles on her hips. "Nobody cares what the opinion of a fly is on their purpose in this world. God of the bugs or not, even they know it is to lay under our heel. To be squished."

"My, I was warned that you were disagreeable, but this is something else," Kor laughed, a ridged smile painted on his face. Maia slightly dropped her previous demeanor as the old man shook violently, skin molting. "You say my children are little more than nuisances?"

The scratching grew louder as two iridescent wings shot from Kor's back, a smaller pair followed suit, ripping through him. Hooked legs broke free from beneath, a large tail covered in membranous sacs lashed out as the rest of his body flushed from the facade. "Come, show them how wrong they are!"

Gol fired off a wary look to Maia, who was yawning at the transformation. She knew this Kor wasn't who he seemed, even without reading ancient texts describing the Hora-Quan's transformative abilities. That, or she hadn't bothered to think past a strange old man walking into their citadel, surrounded by metal heads, and their missing leader that saved them from captivity by ripping open the silo. What was he to do with her?

"You make such a mocking expression at us? We have destroyed countless worlds, diminished entire races, and tore timelines out of existence!" Metal Kor bundled backward with a blaring roar, the gem on his forehead beginning to shine a bright yellow. "This is but one planet that will be crushed under my power, as the Precursors had so long ago! My children shall know no pain brought upon them by the likes of such inferior beings of dark eco as you!"

"Inferior...?"

"Dear sister," Gol said, floating closer to the center of the tunnel. He took Maia by the arm as the crawling caught up, pulling her close to him. Thousands of yellow eyes mirrored through both ends of the corridors. "I think it is time you take our situation seriously."

Throwing herself into a maniacal fit, Maia cackled. She held herself with her free hand, helping to not double over from laughter. " _You_ , an insignificant, pathetic _insect_ , dare call _us_ inferior?"

Tendrils of dark eco spun from her fingertips, sending violet streaks of lightning viciously sparking. a devilish smirk illustrated in the form of a strengthening aura emanated from her skin. Gol felt fear, not for himself, but for the mass of metal heads and their leader that angered his sister.

"That boy will have to wait, dear brother," Maia grinned, throwing her hair back. She grabbed hold of Gol, watching Kor charge the gem on his forehead. "It seems we'll have our fun after all."


	3. A 'Good' Day

Words: 1555

Summary: Usually a cake is dressed up on a birthday, not the birthday boy in his choice attire of wumpbee stings.

Setting: Before the events of TPL.

Note: For the theme of wildcard (any other canon creature), I chose wumpbees. Why not? They do haunt poor Jak after all, and I decided to give my take on what happened that fateful day.

* * *

"As if you didn't give me enough to trouble myself over these days, you decide to come back covered in wumpbee stings. Now hold still, it takes time to make the salve."

And so, Jak sat on the wooden table before Samos the sage as if he were to be operated on. It didn't help that it was his birthday of all days. His ninth, to be exact.

Birthdays were a special day in any child's life, especially in Sandover for a reason wholly unknown to him. His uncle had professed it to be a form of celebration, something about a turning of age and how there weren't many children in the village. That apparently meant cleaning. Lots of it.

That was where his best friend came in.

 _Hey Daxter_ , he waved a puffy hand nonchalantly to the redhead, who returned a worried look through the window.

Tasked with thoroughly cleaning the sage's hut, despite it not being the main hub of the celebration, Daxter hadn't been in a very good mood to begin with. Samos, being the loving caretaker that he was, had shifted a ratty book after the redhead cleaned, causing a thin veil of dust to lay itself on the floor. Once noticed, the cane had wrathfully come down to smite his poor best friend as if he were a fly that defied the gods. A fly with a single, red welt on his forehead, steaming with justifiable rage.

"I clearly don't tell you this enough, but please, be careful next time," Samos sighed, stroking his beard as he peered at a display of vials. "I know that Daxter was behind this. That boy is a bad influence on you, Jak. You would do best to remember that."

 _Who says I wasn't being careful?_ Jak pouted, watching the blue eyes plummet below the frame. The old sage turned from his inspection, three vials of various sizes floated in a green plume above him.

Trying to alleviate the damage as best he could, they opted for a game of catch on a stretch of beach in front of Farmer Zeb's rice fields. He had just fashioned a new ball out of palm leaves and yakow glue stitched together with some netting that the fisherman wouldn't miss. None of the other kids would be out either, which he gratefully welcomed. Just doing something as simple as that with Daxter was a present in and of itself, and the lack of judging eyes who still didn't believe him being mute was a bonus.

"Hmm? I swore I just saw..."

 _Don't look out the window!_ Jak thought, doing his best to divert the sage's attention from the wisps of red hair sticking out. Arms swung wildly through the air, causing a twinge of pain from upsetting the stings. He squeaked out in pain, catching Samos' attention.

"I said hold still, Jak," Samos said frustratedly, sighing to himself as he popped the stoppers off the vials, mixing them together in various amounts. He poured it into his hand, testing the consistency. "It isn't like I can just magically conjure up some cure for wumpbee stings. Oh wait, I can. But what lesson would you learn from that?"

 _That you're a grumpy old man._ He would have laughed at his own humor, but the sage applying the frigid salve overcame any other feeling. It turned to a nice, warm prickling after being absorbed quite well, turning red, irritated lumps into just, well, lumps.

"Now, I'll be back after confirming the plans for tonight. The swelling should cut down within the hour, but if it doesn't I heard that lurkers always look for little children who don't listen to their elders when they tell them to not go near the wumpbee nests!"

As abruptly as Samos left, so did Jak's previous thoughts, now intent on nervously looking around the room to make sure that the sage was entirely joking about the last part. Unless lurkers were pale redheads, he was safe.

The same kid, buckteeth and all, who had stormed off earlier was nervously fidgeting with his hands. Walking into the hut, Daxter laid his face low and turned away from Jak. "'m sorry."

 _For what?_ He raised a swollen eyebrow to the best of his ability, patting the empty table next to him. _It wasn't the worst present._

That bird lady, as kind as she was, wanted to bring him on a walk around the village. It wasn't as much a present for him than it was for her as she had stopped early to have an hour-long conversation with his uncle. The two romanced over hearing about various species of birds they had seen, the conversation was one-sided with more talking about a journey to some wasteland

There was also the mayor, who attempted to convince him that his present was stuck in some Precursor machination that would ensure his third re-election when opened with eco. Then the sculptor gave him a funky looking rock and the fisherman had given him a hearty laugh and a fish.

"No! Yer s'posed ta be mad at me!" Daxter let out, pounding his foot against the wooden boards below. "I shouldn'ta done that, an' 'm sorry Jak. Now yer birthdays gone ca-ploot, all 'cause-a me."

 _Mad at you?_ Jak questioned, raising his shoulders to shrug off his confusion. _Why would I be?_

"I did somethin' mean, and yer s'posed t'be angry! Friends don't do that kinda stuff ta friends." Daxter indignantly sniffled, nose whipping off on his white sleeve. Long, pale ears tinged behind the red hair as his demeanor worsened. "…'Specially not their only one."

 _It wasn't your fault_ , he shook his head, putting his thumb up to affirm it. He should have just continued playing catch with Daxter, and it would have been better than ditching said game to explore the Forbidden Jungle.

"It was! An' now I'm cryin' like a little girl," Daxter blubbered, wiping his nose again. He wasn't the one who had been stung by a swarm of angry wumpbees, and he was shivering and sniffling like he had a bad cold. "Keira'd give me som'thin real ta cry 'bout if sh'heard me, too"

Deciding to take the low road and blame the wumpbees for being there in the first place, and not himself for letting his sense of curiosity get the best of him, Jak smirked. He began working his arms like the Sentinel Beach windmill, holding back the pain of moving them too much. _See? I'm fine now, look._ _All better, ok?_

"Says the ugliest bug an' worst liar I ever saw. Monster o' Misty Island over here."

 _Yeah, real funny._ Jak placed a swollen hand on the redhead's shoulder, cocking an eyebrow at him. His attention quickly darted to a book on mechanical crafts Samos had left out for a certain someone, eyebrow raising even higher. J _ust like you-know-who finding out about this_.

"You are sick. Y'know that? Sick." Daxter sniffled, wiping his nose off on his sleeve before smirking. "But we still gots time ta do stuff."

 _More time to leave me behind?_ he grinned, face still covered in stings. He wasn't going to give Daxter the satisfaction of knowing that maybe, just maybe, he was happy the redhead himself wasn't hurt. As masochistic as it was, he preferred being the one hurt. _And here_ _I was, thinking I was supposed to be mad._

"Blow it out yer ears, buddy," Daxter laughed, now done with his whimpering. He jokingly gave Jak a pat on the back, causing a slight spasm as a response. "We gots'a, 'cause I won't forgive myself for lettin' you forgive me for running on ya. Else I swear I'll stick my head in every wumpbee nest we see! Don't try me, buddy. Y'know I'll do it!"

 _Yeah, you do that,_ Jak rolled his eyes. He redirected himself and the redhead out of the hut into the sunlight, beaming down as if the day was still young. Maybe today still had the chance of being a good day.

It was his birthday, after all. Those Precursor things his uncle always talked about must have been watching. As Samos always said, they were making sure 'curiosity didn't kill the Jak'. That, or it was just some mumbo-jumbo told as a bedtime story to explain how 'lucky' he got.

Giving the goggles a good pat, Jak pulled them down. He knew that luck came from his gift from Keira, not some Precursor legend or Samos' guidance. He slid them down over his eyes, making out the large hut on the cliff that faced out against the great sea. A cloak of smoke billowed from the chimney, with several of the villagers outside moving around.

Smiling, he knocked on his shoulder pad and stood with his hands on his hips. Daxter wouldn't understand it, he never could get behind wanting to be a hero from a dream. His uncle even fashioned him some armor just like it, but he ditched the second one after recalling there was only ever one pad. He winked at his friend through the colored glass, _you think uncle will get me more?_

"If ya don't keep losin' half of 'em your evil scheme of making a walkin' tin can'll work. Y'wanna be wumpbee proof, don't cha?"


End file.
